


The Drink You Should've Skipped

by hedgerowhag



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, House Party, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, and hux clearly just walked out of a french spy novel, featuring: ben why are you putting on someone elses tights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/pseuds/hedgerowhag
Summary: When you are in someones kitchen swapping clothes with a stranger, it's a clear indication it won't be a 'one drink and get home by ten' night.





	The Drink You Should've Skipped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youdidnotseeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/gifts).



> the title is from a song im not willing to admit. i will be both scared and confused if someone figures it out

The train carriage shakes in the subway tunnel and the feet of the 10 a.m. commuters titter on the floor. Nobody notices the lights glitch; their eyes are immovable from the figure of a young man leaning against closed doors, looking at his phone. He is unaware of the interest in his badly fitting leather skirt riding up his ass as the laces meant for keeping it together peel apart, showing his pale stomach and rolled up underwear. His chest is struggling for attention, clipped in a loose corset underneath a heavy leather jacket, stomach hardly covered. The shredded tights seem almost normal in comparison.

The carriage trembles and the young man stretches against the closed doors, the corset riding up on his belly. His head drops back with a satisfied smirk that winks through the greasy, knotted black hair as a fine pink collar shows off on his neck. Alcohol is keeping back the nausea of a hangover creeping up in his throat. Ben licks his lips and remembers the waxy kisses from the night.

The train rolls toward a station. The doors open and strangers flood around Ben. He doesn’t notice them as he watches a text flicker on the screen of his phone.

_will I see you again?_

 

 

The city is aching with fall. Orange lights of the streets and the traffic kiss the clouds. Ben is stood in the lobby of an apartment building, swallowing on the taste of a cigarette as music shakes through the bricks against his back onto the sidewalk. He blows out smoke into the air and crosses his arms, keeping his jacket close around himself as the chill tugs on his t-shirt.

Ben had left his shift of waiting tables and arrived at the apartment block of the party without changing. Regret is nudging at him as he feels the minutes creep through his limbs with the cold. He clicks his phone awake, checking for a sign he hasn’t been ditched. This wasn’t his idea, after all.

Looking up, through the metal rod balconies, Ben sees the gaping glass doors, spilling over with yellow light and music. A rush of laughter and two figures crash against the railing as their shadows tangle.

Hands slam into Ben’s back and he stumbles, ready to raise a fist when he turns and sees a gaggle of familiar grins.

The buzz of the intercom permits the mismatched group inside. They are a swirl of torn black fabric, chunks of leather and ringing chains bouncing between the peeling walls of the staircase. Ben is pulled on by hands in fingerless gloves as slurred words are passed around him.

On the sixth landing, there is an ajar door that opens out with the overspill of light and music. Someone laughs over Ben’s shoulder as he trips on the threshold, caught by the heartbeat of the sound system. The air burns with the smell of drink and smoke, though the windows are gaping out into the street.

There are people scattered on the furniture and crowded in thick clumps throughout the rooms. Ben hears the sound of lips meeting in the empty spaces of the music. His eyes drag over bodies tangled together, exposing skin and baring teeth, disappearing between passing figures. He forces his stare away, to the smoke seeping toward the ceiling as his stands beside the door.

Ben is grabbed by the elbow and guided in with a smile of smudged bloodied lipstick. He is slotted into the couch of broken springs among bodies where he falls into the hollow of missing cushions. Bottles are passed between hands, sticky with spit and lipstick of people Ben sees talking but can’t hear. He finds his lips latched on a tequila bottle as he takes deep swallows until his body is flushed – feverish. He sinks into the couch, grinning into his hands at the blurring music.

The air is tight with smoke and sweat that is clinging over the room like a film. Ben has sunk deeper into his seat while people move around him in a blur. His chin is touching his chest, he smells like old cigarettes and beer and his skin is burning underneath his clothes.

Ben peels himself out of the couch and staggers through the packed bodies. His hand is a frozen claw on the glass neck of the tequila bottle, his chipped teeth ribbing on the rim like it’s a pacifier. Vaguely, Ben finds the mottled kitchen with a rusting fridge and dented sink. He shakes off his jacket, placing the bottle onto the floor since it seems like it will be too much effort to balance it on the counter. With skin buzzing under the fog of smoke, he restrains himself from pulling his ripped t-shirt off too.

The air seems cooler in the kitchen and Ben tips his head back to feel it chilling the sweat on his skin. He is watching fuzzy dots fleet through the space when his staring match with the discoloured tiles above the stove is interrupted by a clatter of heels coming through the doorway.

“’Scuse me.”

Ben flinches from a woman as she pushes for the sink. She grabs a dirty glass from the side of the counter and fills it with water while flicking a burning cigarette stub onto the mucked floor. Ben’s eyes climb down her tall body as she drinks, from the cropped silver-blonde hair to the spikes of her glossy heels.

The woman is strapped in a bordering onto tacky silk black corset and a skirt made from panels of deep red leather that are held together by laces. Her tights are ripped, down her thighs and over the knees.

The glass clacks on the counter. “No, I’m not interested,” the woman says.

Ben snaps aside his stare. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Why were you looking at me like that then?”

“I—I like your—” Ben gestures toward the woman’s body. “—Your clothes. They’re nice.”

She considers him, snagging her red stained lip on her teeth. Her pale eyes are crawling over his body in turn. “Do you want to try them on?”

Ben’ neck cracks as he turns to the woman. Her smirk is giddy and he knows he should decline. Instead, he is peeling off his shirt and handing it to the woman which she exchanges for the corset that she braces on his thick middle.

After much adjusting, they fit the steel pins around Ben but are unable to cover his chest at the same time as his stomach. The leather cords of the skirt are undone, and the thin strips of cloth are pulled over Ben’s hips. With the skirt loose, forced to fit Ben’s stature, there are broad windows between the panels, putting on display the white skin of Ben’s thighs and his bunched, grey boxer shorts.

The woman is kneeling on the floor, dressed in Ben’s t-shirt and her underwear, as she urges him into the tights. They are giggling when the fabric snaps on Ben’s legs, creaking at the waistband. He holds himself against the counter while the woman’s knees slide on the floor from laughing at Ben’s pinched thighs that run ladders through the tights until they fit.

The waistband is hauled over Ben’s ass, the elastic snapping on his waist, and the woman stands as she balances herself with a hold on Ben’s hips. Her eyes are drooping lazily and pale hair hanging forward as she stares down at Ben. Her fingers tighten on the bones of his hips and a smile crawls onto her lips as she leans in toward Ben.

He thinks she will kiss him and he doesn’t even care; he is giddy at the thought of lips on his own. But the woman grips his chin and smirks as she walks out backwards into the living room.

Ben stumbles after her, tripping when the tights covering his feet snag on the exposed floorboards. He looks from the woman at the grinning eyes surrounding them. He knows they all picking apart the ragged clothes that keep him from being a ruined mess and an ecstatic feeling passes through him.

Ben is knocked off his legs in front of the packed couch, crumpling with a whimper. His knees scrape on a balding rug and his confusion comes through in slurring words as the woman drops down onto the couch between smiling girls. Words pass overhead and Ben watches dumbly as someone unspools a belt and loops it around his neck before cinching it down until the buckle presses against the apple of his throat.

The leather strap is yanked, tilting Ben’s chin toward the woman who sits dressed in only his t-shirt. She is holding up a bottle of something his eyes can’t focus on.

“You want more?” she asks and the girls around her thrum with laughter.

Ben leans forward as the belt cuts his neck and nods. He thinks she will offer the lip of the bottle, but instead she tips it in front of his face onto the floor.

Ben watches the amber pool on the dust carpeted floors and hears, “Lick it up then, clumsy boy.”

The belt goes slack as Ben leans down, braced on hands and knees, and swipes his numb tongue between the feet of the woman. Someone’s smaller hands pressed down on the back of his head and he gags, chokes, sputtering into the wet dust. Laughter surrounds Ben, making him hot under his skin in a way that goes to his cock. More hands come down across his back, petting the silk of the corset as he licks the mess. Diligent, until he is urged back up by the yank of the collar in his throat.

Swallowing against the chokehold, Ben watches the pale-haired woman tip the drink across a girl’s naked thighs. She slides down the couch, spreading her legs in offering. Ben doesn’t need the pull to understand that he has to put his tongue on her skin.

Ben holds apart the girl’s knees as he put his head between her thighs and laps at them, sucking the alcohol from the crease between her thighs and the couch where the rivulets are running down toward her ass. It’s doing nothing for him, to feel this woman’s soft skin on his, but the drunken static inside his body makes him careless.

Ben is pulled back by the mock-collar as someone tips liquid into his mouth while his jaw is gripped and held open. He chokes, but the sound is smothered by someone kissing him and licking the alcohol off his tongue.

People take turns with Ben, either making him clean with his tongue or simply pulling him by the belt to kiss him. Someone has their teeth on Ben’s throat as they hold back his hair. He tips his head to the side, hissing at the scraping teeth as he looks through the crowd at the open balcony doors.

The shadows leaning against the frame melts with the night city sky; the man is dressed in jeans and a black polo neck with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He would blur with the city blocks if it wasn’t for his washed out white skin and red hair that flashes violently against the brown clouds. He is watching Ben as he finishes a cigarette and doesn’t turn away to flick it aside.

Ben’s face is wrenched up toward the eyes above him as something is poured down his flushed chest. He gasps when he feels the cool liquid drip under the corset, reaching the waistband of the skirt. He looks down at the soaked silk and flinches when someone leans in to run their tongue from his chest to his jaw. Tilting his head, Ben groans and his thighs open as his hair is fisted tight.

Laughter splits the room when Ben is pushed down onto the mottled rug and grabbed by the ankles. He shouts when his back scrapes the floor as he is dragged forward by the red-haired man who stood in the balcony doors. He dodges Ben’s kicking feet and takes both ankles into one hand as he is handed a half-empty bottle.

“ _Hux_ —” the woman whose clothes Ben is wearing laughs. “Don’t _eat_ the kid.”

Ben pants as his face flushes scarlet under the man’s pale stare. He gives Ben a grin before pressing the lip of the bottle against his leg and letting the alcohol run down his thigh, soaking into the torn tights. The stream splatters on Ben’s chest and chin as the bottle is lifted away. Ben splutters and the redhead latches his lips onto Ben’s ankle. He sucks kisses into the skin feverishly through the gaps of the tights, swiping his tongue and bending down to bite the inside of Ben’s knee, puncturing a bruise.

“Hux!” The man is nudged with a bare foot as he bruises Ben’s inner thigh. “Come on! Be gentle! He is _drunk_.”

The stranger’s breath burns against Ben’s thighs. He kneels down, staring. Ben’s shoulders are scraped raw as he squirms when Hux, surrounded by a crowd of strangers, climbs between Ben’s open legs and sucks the alcohol off his chest. Ben leans toward the lips that tease his neck, but he is held down by the belt around his throat pinned to the floor by a fist.

Ben moans and coughs as Hux sits up in a halo of stares. There are hands on Ben, stroking his jaw, neck, chest, and prying at his lips. But then his arms are grasped, and he is pulled to his unsteady feet as he is levelled with Hux. His eyes are on Ben’s throat where his fingers swipe droplets of alcohol from the line of collar before being stuffed into Ben’s mouth.

Laughter trickles through the overbearing music as Ben licks at Hux’s fingers before he is pulled out from the circle of bodies by fingers lodged in the collar. Ben stumbles as Hux walks backward toward the front door, grappling for the handle, refusing to lose focus on Ben.

Footsteps tangle on the cold concrete of the hallway. The front door closes and the noose of leather around Ben’s neck is pinned against the wall. Hux crashes Ben’s lips in a kiss. His free hand grips the bare strip of Ben’s hip, digging bruises into skin as he bites Ben’s lip, licking the taste of alcohol out of his mouth.

Ben sinks against the walls, scraping his nails across the fabric on Hux’s stomach until his fingers meet the belt of his jeans.  Ben digs his fingers in, dragging Hux closer as they kiss in the hallway glitching with light, breathless as if they have been caught in a fight.

Hux jerks Ben back by the collar of the belt and they part with a slick sound.

“Do you want to come with me?” Hux whispers as his fingers meander on the clips of Ben’s corset.

Ben opens his mouth, trying to shape syllables, but only whines and nods against Hux’s thumb on his lips.

Hux grabs Ben by the elbow and turns him toward the door out onto the fire escape staircase. Ben clings to Hux’s shoulder as they exit into the wind rising up against the apartment block. Numb to the snap of the cold in their fever, they run up the flights of the creaking steps before Ben is pulled by his waist through the door on the second landing.

The moment the wind is shut out, the dark is dripping with the sound of Hux pressing his lips to Ben’s, kissing him as he unhooks the belt from Ben’s throat. The buckle clatters on the floor and Ben drags his arms over Hux’s shoulders and bites his jaw, kissing the sharp angles of his ears. When Hux tries to urge him into moving, Ben sags and whines – trying to keep Hux still so that he can paw at the crotch of his jeans.

Ben doesn’t get far; Hux shoves him down the corridor, herding him against a door. Ben doesn’t notice how it gets unlocked because his attention is caught on Hux’s red lips in the dim light of the corridor.

Ben is walked backward into the apartment, his focus on the passing rooms lost when Hux’s teeth start to bruise his throat while hands pry open the laces of the skirt that have cut lines into Ben’s ass and hips. Frustrated by Hux’s pace, Ben grabs for his clothes, pulling at him closer and prying his lips with teeth and tongue. But his efforts are halted when he is pushed into a room of faint city light and marched into the edge of a bed.

Ben flops back, tripping on his numb feet, as Hux straightens the collar of his polo neck sweater and blows aside his hair. “Stay there,” he says and leaves Ben with a backward glance.

Light switches click down the corridor as the bed continues to rock underneath Ben. He rolls onto his stomach and stares at the empty, clean corners of the bedroom. The only wrinkle in the presentation of the unobstructed desk and minimalist lighting fixtures is the slightly ajar draw under the wide, steel handled closet.

Climbing off the bed, Ben holds out his arms to keep the room from rocking as he walks toward the drawer. He pulls it open by hooking a finger into the crack.

Ben smirks at his expectations of the discovery: a murder weapon wrapped in bloody rags, a ski mask or maybe a stash of drugs. Definitely not vibrators in their stacked boxes beside small locked cases Ben starts picking at. Ben bursts in startled giggle when he thumbs a heavy leather harness and a paddle. He gawks at a baby pink collar with conical studs and a ruffle of lace with three tiny silk roses for a tag.

Floorboards creak in the hallway as Ben bundles the collar in his and grabs a plain glass plug he hides behind his back as he kicks the draw closed and throws himself onto the bed.

Turning the corner of the doorway, Hux appears in the threshold of the bedroom. He has lost the sweater and his jeans are open, missing the belt. He is skinny, in a hungry way that promises sharp knuckles to the jaw and a bite to the fingers. It makes Ben want to see Hux pulled apart.

“What were you doing?” Hux walks into the room and rests a knee on the edge of the mattress beside Ben’s head where it’s hanging off the end.

“Checking for previous victims.” Ben grins as Hux notices the collar in Ben’s hand, peeking out from underneath his back.

Hux looks at it like he wants to slap the strip of leather from Ben’s palm. His lean, pale chest heaves as his lips pinch. He grabs the collar from Ben’s hand, unaware of the other find, and climbs onto the bed. Then, he seats himself onto Ben’s chest, pushing him down with a hand on the breast of the corset before looping the collar under Ben’s greasy hair.

“What is your name again?” Hux asks as he works on the buckle.

“Ben,” he says. The collar is cinched under his chin and turned with the ruffled pendant at the centre.

“Cute,” Hux mumbles before leaning down and kissing where he brushed aside Ben’s hair from his ear.

“Fuck being _cute_.”

Ben watches Hux climb off his chest and opens his thighs for him to see the skirt ride up on his thighs, showing the unfortunate ripped jumble of grey underwear and tights.

Hux presses between his open legs and licks Ben’s chest where he tastes the bitter sting of alcohol against the heat of his flushed skin. He brushes aside Ben’s hands when they try to pull him up.

“You keep those here if you want to keep going,” Hux tells Ben as he takes his wrists and shoves them against the edge of the bed.

“Bitch,” mumbles Ben, but doesn’t complain as Hux crawls down his body and handles his legs up.

Hux tries to yank off the shredded tights, but it’s too much work. So, he pulls seat of them along with the hole worn boxer shorts over the curve of Ben’s ass. He kicks his feet above Hux’s head as his legs droop down, weighed against his torso by drunk numbness.

Ben’s thighs are sticky with drink and the run of Hux’s spit that is sucked by warm lips behind the cover of the skirt and tights that stretch on Ben’s hips. He is lent a view of Hux’s red cheeks through the stretched strained laces. A hiccup is pulled from Ben when lips close on the base of his hard cock that has been led on all night by touches on his body and the tight constraint of the clothing. Hux laps at the base, holding Ben’s thighs down against his torso as he leads down, planting a long kiss to the juncture of his plush thigh.

Ben’s hands scrunch against the bedding and his chin bites into the collar’s buckle as Hux comes up with wet lips and leans toward him. Ben feels Hux’s cock, covered by denim, press hard against his ass – thrusting in a suggestion on his bare skin.

Ben pushes his ass back against Hux’s hips. “I want that,” he says.

Hux curses and shoves Ben down against the bed, making it squeak as he gets up. Ben’s leg flop down. He watches Hux open the draw underneath the closet. Something slim like a belt wraps around his fist – except long and matching the collar in colouring. A bottle follows and then Hux is pinning Ben down onto the mattress with his palms.

“Why don’t you hold your legs apart for me, huh? Cutie,” he says, leaving nothing for Ben to do but grab his thighs.

“You can kiss my ass with that cutie shit!” Ben laughs when his lips are grasped by teeth.

Tongues and lips busy, unaware when the bottle in Hux’s hand opens, cold liquid dribbles over the covers and his palms. Ben gasps when is opened on Hux’s fingers – so easy after being so numb with alcohol. The thumb presses between his cock and hole, and he is kicking underneath Hux’s weight. There are teeth on his throat, keeping him down like a dog as he is fucked by Hux’s fingers that are rubbing viciously on his prostate. Ben is spasming, screaming, legs yanking against the bindings of the shredded tights.

Hux is pulling his fingers from Ben’s body and pushing him onto his knees. “Come on then!” Hux barks. “Up!” He strikes across Ben’s ass as he is tipped over and scratches the blushing skin.

Numbly, with his panting rasping in his ears, Ben follows the movement and crawls onto his knees. He feels the glass plug roll on the covers underneath him as the collar on his throat is tugged and metal clicks together. Hux’s hands withdraw, but the pull on the collar remains.

Ben whimpers when the leash pulls him back, restricting his breathing in warning. Fingers press against his entrance, spreading lube over his skin before pushing inside. Ben spreads his thighs as far as he is able and rocks back, losing sense in the fog of his mind as his head meets the covers that are warm with the burn of his breath.

Time shrinks and swells uncertainly. Ben looks over his shoulder against the tug of the leash to see Hux fucking his own fist with his latex covered cock. Ben pushes his bare ass toward him and moans when he feels the head of Hux’s cock slip against his hole. There is a hand underneath the unspooling skirt, rubbing over his spine, scratching with the tight coil of the leash.

Spit bubbles between Ben’s teeth and he falls forward when a hot, thick cock begins to fill him out. Fabric snaps around his thighs and sharp hips press against his ass. He feels the coarse hair and sweat, the layers of Hux’s jeans-underwear, scratching the raw skin. Ben is pulled back by the bunched skirt in Hux’s fist and the leash tethering his throat. He groans, lips curled against the covers, and spasms all over when Hux grinds into him, letting him feel the texture between skin and cloth and the thickness pushing inside him.

There are hands beside Ben’s head on the sheets and he is pushed against the mattress with a bodily weight. Ben feels Hux shift, opening his stance as he draws out and thrusts back inside Ben, shaking the mattress. Seeing a pale fist beside his face, Ben reaches out and pulls the fingers toward his mouth. He feels the stutter in Hux’s fucking and the urging grind against his ass when he sucks to the last knuckles. Ben chokes when the leash yanks on the collar and the fingers hook on his teeth. Ben moans, bracketed with the brace of Hux’s control all over him.

Breathless sounds hang over Ben, coupled with the squeaks and pops of the mattress springs. Ben lets his body go with the movements, concentrating on pushing back against Hux’s thrusts. A hand comes underneath Ben’s jaw, forcing him to face the hazy window as Hux’s hot breath hushes against his ear in harsh beats.

“I couldn’t leave you on the floor.” Hux’s tongue swipes across Ben’s open lips, tasting his spit. “You looked so good, being used by everyone. But I couldn’t let them spoil you.”

Ben laughs against Hux’s mouth. “How chivalrous—of you—”

“Yeah?” Hux’s lips move against Ben’s cheek as he speaks. “I’ll show you just how chivalrous I can be.”

Air is rushing out of Ben’s throat as he is pulled back by the strings of the corset and his bound legs fold around Hux’s lap. He is cursing, moaning and twitching as Hux’s cock fills him out, forcing lube out of him. Ben slumps against Hux, eyes struggling to keep open to look at the mess of his skirt covered in precum, bunched over his spread thighs.

There is a pat on Ben’s hip as Hux tells him. “Come on, I think you can return the favour.”

Ben grunts and begins to arrange his legs, knees aching and thighs burning. There are hands on his waist, pawing through the thick ribbing of the corset that hangs off him loosely. Ben feels Hux’s chest through the gaps in the laces against his back.

With his hands on Hux’s thighs, Ben lifts up – hardly managing an inch on his numb legs. He drops down, forcing a laugh from Hux. With a tighter grip, Ben continues with the motions, moving past the aches in his thighs and calves, rising enough to choke himself on the delicate collar.

Ben feels Hux jerk to meet his weak movements as he breathes through his open mouth. The bed frame is screaming through the steel springs under his weight as they become frantic and Ben is thrown down across the covers. Hux grabs him by his legs, arranging him feverishly onto his back before dragging him toward his lap and forcing his cock inside Ben. He is laughing as Hux grabs the top of the corset, using it for purchase as he fucks Ben.

Dumb with the fever of the sex fogged air, Ben grasps Hux close with his legs and reaches for the bottle of lube thrown across the covers. Hux isn’t paying attention; his face is pressed against Ben’s neck and he hears nothing over the sound of their fucking and the mattress springs. Ben tightens his legs on Hux’s hips as he reaches down his back toward the waist of his jeans.

Hux bites on a shout when he feels Ben pushing a finger inside him, trapping him between the sensation of fucking and being fucked. He stills with his cock deep inside Ben before pushing back on his slick finger.

“More,” Hux grunts. “Fucking give me _more_!”

With lube running down Hux’s thighs, Ben pushes two fingers inside him as he is fucked into blind pleasure. When Ben has three fingers stuffed inside Hux, sending him delirious with every twitch of his knuckles, Ben pulls them out and reaches for the glass plug digging into his back.

There is still enough sense in Ben to pour lube over it, even as Hux rides him into the mattress and bites his jaw—neck—ears. Ben licks the glass and reaches behind Hux, hitching him closer with his heels.

The glass enters and a thrust deep enough to ache forces Ben to keel. The fabric tangled around his waist-thighs drags on his cock, pulling whimpers from his raw mouth as his hands falls back on the bed. Ben’s teeth are clacking together with the shudders of the bed. Hux is grunting, the sounds becoming deeper as hands struggle to find a place to hold on Ben’s body.

There is a shattered sound and the weight of Hux’s body is collapsing over Ben. He vaguely feels the pulses of cum somewhere deep inside him, filling him out as Hux pushes his cock further into him. Ben’s mouth opens on a sound that could be mistaken for a punch to the gut and he cums, onto the leather skirt and Hux’s stomach. He keeps going, bucking up against Hux’s weight.

Maybe, alcohol hadn’t been forced down Ben’s throat, he would have climbed off Hux’s dick and made him suck his cock. Taken his time, teased Hux with the skirt and collar. Maybe. But then again, he can’t even close his legs as Hux gets off, leaving his open thighs to the cold air.

A wet sound. Glass drops onto the floor. Ben snorts against the covers and his legs sink off the mattress edge as Hux slips from the bed. Cloth drops onto the floor and bones pop. Hux walks out of the room and Ben yawns, listening to lights click down the hall.

Ben doesn’t straighten the skirt or underwear over his ass. He hopes Hux will want another go and keep him in bed; despite being sober enough to cum, Ben doesn’t think he could see five feet in front of his nose. A walk to the subway station will become a nose dive into the pavement.

Footsteps weave back into the room and the covers are edged out from underneath Ben.

“Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” Hux asks as he drags Ben toward the pillows, managing to arrange him for the covers to be pulled around them both.

Ben drops over onto his stomach moans into a pillow bunched in his arms, sweat warm face scrunched up, eyes closed. “I dun-want to stand u-up.”

“Can you undress?”

Ben lifts a leg, still tangled in his boxer-shorts and tights, and flops it over Hux’s ass beside him, pulling him closer.

“No then?”

Ben wriggles his shoulders, as though to burrow into the bed, satisfied that he isn’t being immediately thrown out of the door.

 

 

Morning tastes like stale tequila and scum coating Ben’s teeth and tongue. He breathes mint shampoo that he does not recognise and snorts out a scruff of hair, hacking on a dry feeling in his throat.

Ben pulls back, dragging his bent ear across the pillow, and squints at a snoring pale face with frizzy ginger hair. Ben swallows and feels a tug on his neck. He reaches up to touch a thin leather band of the collar and scrunches the ribbon tag in his sticky fingers. Ben knows for sure that he is still drunk as his fingers refuse to squeeze the silk.

Muffled buzzing interrupts Ben’s discovery, triggering twitches to spasm on Hux’s face as he takes his hand from between Ben’s thighs and reaches under the pillow. His foggy eyes stare at the phone screen in the grey morning light, flicking off the alarm. He pushes the phone underneath his head in the pillows and paws for Ben’s stale skin beneath the twisted corset.

Ben watches Hux, hearing him make a small strangled noise when he can’t get enough under his reach. He smirks at the frustrated pout smeared on the pillow.

“What time is it?” Ben asks, coughing past the scratch in his throat.

“Nine… Ish…”

Ben bolts up, legs kicking out the covers. Hux is jerking up on the bouncing mattress as Ben pulls his underwear over his ass. By some animal reflex, Hux reaches out and grabs Ben by the waistband of the skirt, holding him back from running out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Hux demands.

“I have work. In four hours.”

“On a Saturday?”

“My weekend was Wednesday-Thursday.”

“Oh.” Hux is still holding onto Ben, pulling him toward the bed and his naked body. “But what about a morning fuck?”

Ben is dizzy and the idea of tumbling back into bed, then showering in a couple of hours is appealing; there is sweat caking his armpits and underneath the twisted clothes, chafing his waist. The smell if garbage worthy. But he needs to go.

“Another time?” Ben asks.

Hux grunts, sounding disappointed. He yanks Ben down anyway, forcing him to fall back onto the mattress. Hux’s hands are on his jaw, holding him for a kiss that is all laziness and the after thought of morning breath. Then, Ben is pushed out of bed and onto the floor. Hux watches him from above and grins when Ben jolts into a run.

Ben only notices the leash swinging from his neck when it lashes across his chest. He struggles with the clip as he rushes into the bathroom, to piss and wash out his mouth. Shoeless, he trips on the piece of leather when he darts through the apartment, tangling the cord of his ankle. Cursing, Ben picks up the leash.

It’s quiet in the bedroom; Hux seems asleep again, unreactive to Ben passing through the hallway to the kitchen.

It’s lucky that Hux has the apartment arranged within an inch of his life. There are even magnetic clips lined on the fridge and a cup of pens beside a notepad at the house phone.

With a scrap of paper tucked into the coiled leather, Ben clips the leash onto the fridge and runs out of the front door.

 

Blurring eyes and twisting feet, Ben palmed his way down into the apartment below where the remains of the party littered the floor. Bodies and bottles alike lied in the corners, smelling of cigarettes and vomit. It looked like the same pit of dust and piss in the morning light.

“ _Thank you, baby Jesus_ ,” Ben breathed when he found his jacket, pockets safely zipped on his phone, wallet and keys. He found his boots in the garbage of beer cases, but nothing else.

With time running, Ben stumbled out of the building as he was and into the subway station. He caught a train within moments, blind with the woozy aftertaste of tequila, unaware of stares clinging over his body. He perched himself against the closed doors – afraid that if he sits he won’t get up again. His back aches and neck is chafed by the collar caught underneath his jacket.

Signal came through when the train slowed in a station. Ben’s pocket buzzed with a text. He looked at it, grinning.

_i wish you had stayed_

_you wouldn’t have regretted it_

Ben replied before the train set off again: _oh u think so??_

He stretched against the doors as the view of the platform shuttered in front of him, waiting for the next station to come after the intermediate darkness and the rush of air through the windows.

The doors opened, and Ben ignored the flood of strangers around him struggling for space as the text came through. Ben pulls his fingers through the holes of the tights, running ladders down to his knees as he considers it. The laces of the skirt swing in the breeze coming into the carriage from the platform’s air conditioning.

_will I see you again?_

_u can come over this time_ , Ben types, _we can have that morning fuck u wanted_

 

 

 

 


End file.
